The Joker's Shadow
by Chi Elohana
Summary: Someone's been watching the Joker, and he wants to be part of the action. First two chapters are prologues. Slash ahead!
1. Chapter 1

"I know you're there…" The Joker stated, the sing-song words bouncing against the dank ally walls

Author's note: Joker, Batman, Dent, Dawes – they're not mine (shocking! :D ). Nolan TDK Joker. Story takes place during the movie, between scenes. Chaps 1 and 2 are prologues. You can skip to Chap 3 if you'd like, but these parts are background and add dimension to the O/C. Yay for reading! Yay!

"I know someone's there…" The Joker stated, the sing-song words echoing off the dank ally walls. "You've been following me," he continued, his voice deepening. "It's losing its…charm."

There was no response. He listened for footsteps, spinning suddenly when a rat skittered across the pavement.

"Fine!" he yelled, like a child reluctantly going to the corner for time-out. "When you want to play, I'll play."

For days he'd heard footsteps, doors shutting, objects dropping. All things to indicate someone was shadowing him. Maybe it was one of those irritating Batman copycats, he thought. They disgusted him.

"Listen, I'm tired. So," he waved his hand, dismissing the shadow, "go home… and not with me."

J scaled a nearby fire escape. Three stories up, he smashed the butt of his gun through an already-cracking window pane and reached his leather-gloved hand through to unlock the window, forcing it open with his shoulder. Once inside, it was clear the apartment was abandoned. Perfect place to rest for a few hours until daylight. The mob bosses would be meeting, and he wanted a few hours of shut eye before introducing himself to them.

"Mmm, plumbing works," he muttered. Kitchen sink water running, J pulled his gloves off with his teeth and slid out of his overcoat. He rolled up his sleeves and twisted his neck to position his face under the cool stream. Sideways, he opened his mouth, the water running over his tongue as it took off his makeup.

A door inside the apartment opened, startling J. He hit his forehead, hard, on the faucet. "COME ON!" he grunted. "I was enjoooying that." He touched his forehead with two fingers. "And now I'm bleeding. Happy?"

"I could be happier," a voice responded from the hallway.

J turned off the faucet and wiped his face on his sleeve. He stepped towards the hall. "I thought told you not to come home with me."

After a long pause, the stranger spoke. "I know what you're doing."

"Oh, really? You do? Because, I don't even know what I'm doing day to day. So you tell me. What am I doing?"

A figure emerged from the hallway and walked into the pale light that streamed through the broken window. It was a man, early twenties, dressed in black. A suit, three pieces – like J's – but not homemade. His hair was very short on the sides, choppy and longer on top. Pink and black strands fell across the stranger's eyes.

"I know you're setting up the mob." His words were careful. They sounded slightly rehearsed. "And I know it's…not going to be easy for one man alone."

J approached the stranger and circled him, still wiping water from his face. "And I s'pose you wanna saaaaave the day and stop me before I get to them. Mmm? You a hero? Or maybe hoping for some kind of…re-ward…from the gang-sterrrs?"

"Nnnoo," the man said, matching J's mocking tone.

J's slight smile widened. "Well then. Why are you in my penthouse?"

"I can help you."

J took a few steps back from the stranger. "Ohhh no no no. I don't want a fan, like the Batman. Flattering – really – but I'm doing just fine on my own." J returned to the sink, turning on the water and replacing his face beneath it.

The man grabbed J by the back of his vest and pushed him to the opposite wall. He was strong, despite being even thinner than J.

"Ok, now? I'm really annoyed. I'm trying to freshen up."

The man put J between himself and the wall, almost nose-to-nose. "I need to help you."

"This is awkward." J licked water droplets from his lips.

"You're taking on something big. You could use a capable set of helping hands. I've been watching you, and I want to be a part of what you're doing."

"Not a fan of Gotham, I take it?"

The man backed away from J and turned the water off. "I have my reasons."

"You know, kid, you're not really offering to help me. You're asking me to do a favor for you. And I don't do favors. Most importantly – and this is really the key thing here," he said, pushing his hair out of the blood on his forehead, "I work alone. I don't need a partner."

"I didn't even say partners. I said I wanted to help. I can work for you."

"I don't pay."

"I don't care…about money." The man began begging, quietly. Desperately. "I don't care about…anything. Other than doing something to liven up this damned city." He grabbed J by the tie. "And I like what you're doing, and I like where it's going, and I need to be a part of this. I can't just sit in the balcony anymore watching you." They were nose-to-nose again. "Let me be a part of the act," he whispered, "and I promise to please the crowd."

"Well, I'm a sucker for the dramatics."

A flicker of hope danced across the stranger's blue eyes.

"But like I said. I work alone. And the little…peons…I get to help me here and there…well, I typically kill them, too. So unless that's what you're looking for, I have no use for you."

The stranger let go of J's tie and straightened it. "I'll prove you wrong," he said, eyebrows raised. "And when I do, I won't even say 'I told you so'."

J felt a laugh rise from his chest. There was something intriguing about this person in black that stood so close to him without so much as flinching. He wouldn't want to turn away something that could potentially be fun. "Ok then."

"Ok what?"

"Ok, prove me wrong." J clapped in the stranger's face, getting the startle he deserved. "Prove me wrong, prove me wrong, prove me wrong," he repeated, clapping. "Tomorrow. I'll give you one shot to impress me. Doesn't have to be anything fancy, just something…useful to me."

The man nodded.

J walked past him and returned to the sink. "Tomorrow. That's all you get. I don't have much of an attention span to wait longer than that."

Without another word, the man exited through the broken window, making eye contact with J briefly before he hopped onto the fire escape.

Why shouldn't he have one lousy copycat while the Batman got to have dozens? Especially when this one might have a potential to be a little fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Days passed and the stranger hadn't made an appearance, but J was too busy to notice

Author's note: Joker, Batman, Dent, Dawes – they're not mine (shocking! :D ). Nolan TDK Joker. Story takes place during the movie, between scenes. Chaps 1 and 2 are prologues. You can skip to Chap 3 if you'd like, but these parts are background and add dimension to the O/C. Yay for reading! Yay!

Days passed and the stranger hadn't made an appearance, but the Joker was too occupied to notice. Days typically blurred together to J like lampposts down a highway – whizzing by, one barely discernable from the next. Yet the past few days had been different. A relatively straightforward scheme to set up the mob wound up turning the Batman's head. That raised the stakes, and it meant J would have to get more creative. A challenge he was more than happy to take on.

J left a pool hall, one mobster disfigured by his blade, two about to maul one another with a broken cue. In the past he may have stayed around to see the results, but messing with pathetic excuses for criminals wasn't quite the thrill it had been a few days prior. From now on, none of this little stuff, he thought. It's time to show this city how dark it can really get.

J walked the lower Gotham streets searching for a car to "borrow". He tugged at handles as he passed, grunting at each door that resisted. Two blocks, no dice. Three blocks. Four. Finally a door opened, and he patted it gratefully before falling into the driver's seat.

He was gifted at hotwiring, a skill his mother might have been proud of if she hadn't run off years ago. At least, he thought she did. The past was always a bit fuzzy. J looked under the steering wheel for the access cover, groping in the dark, muttering "c'mon, c'mon."

"Would these help?"

Keys fell into J's lap, startling him. He hit his head on the bottom of the wheel.

"I'm getting tired of the way you make an entrance," he complained, rubbing the same spot the faucet injured several nights ago.

"Get up. I'll drive. It's my car, anyway."

J obliged reluctantly, handing over the keys but keeping his eyes on the strangers'. "Got somewhere in mind?" he asked as they got into the car.

"Actually, yes. I have a gift to give you."

J played with the car's glove box, opening and shutting it rapidly. The stranger peeled out of the parking spot to regain J's attention.

"I said I have a gift. Aren't you curious what it might be?"

"No-pe."

"Come on, not even a little?" The stranger grinned playfully, but there was clearly something darker behind his eyes.

"Make it fast. Make it good. 'Cause if not," J placed the tip of his knife against the stranger's temple, "I'll make you hurt-t. And not like the little boo-boo you caused on my head."

The stranger's closed-lip grin widened.

"That's not supposed to make you smile," J frowned, narrowing his eyes before finally taking the blade from the stranger's head.

"What can I say? I'm a man who admires you, after all."

J chewed his bottom lip, still looking at the stranger. "You gotta name?"

"Do you?"

"Hey. Hey, listen." J leaned into the stranger, his wet, scarred lips inches from the stranger's ear, "I enjoy games – I do. But only when I win. So if you're trying to play some game with me that you think you're gonna win, keep in mind….I'm a sore loser."

The stranger stopped the car outside of a self storage facility. He climbed out and walked quickly, pausing briefly when he realized J wasn't behind him. His grin became a full smile.

He came to a stop outside of a unit and leaned into J's ear the same way J did to him. "I hope you like it." He crouched down and unlocked the garage-style door, raising it quickly.

The unit emanated bright fluorescent lighting. In the center sat a blindfolded man in a home-made Batman costume, tied to his chair.

The stranger crouched again, this time next to his captive. He looked at the captive's face while speaking to J. "I know you hate the Batfans. I know you hate the Batman. So I thought you could put this….guy….to good use." He looked up at J. "Do you think you can?"

J stared at the captive, his hands balling into fists. He began salivating, and licked his lips to keep from drooling. He pulled the stranger to his feet.

"I want a video camera," J said, drawing the stranger toward him violently by the jacket lapels. "Get me a camera. Get it now-w. Get it for me."

"I'll get it for you," he promised calmly, nodding. "Down, boy." He tried to pull away from J's grip.

J grabbed the stranger's jacket harder and pulled him in, the two men chest to chest. "Fifteen minutes. Or I kill him and you. Understand?"

J looked for a response in the stranger's eyes, but the stranger was looking at J's gleaming, red lips instead.

"You got a problem with the scars?"

The stranger shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered.

"Then why are you staring?"

The stranger looked up at J, his lips parted.

"Tell me!" J grunted between closed teeth.

"Just let me get a camera for you, ok?"

J pushed the stranger away from him. "Fine. Go. Now." He turned his attention to his victim-to-be.

The stranger straightened his jacket as he left the storage unit. "Hey," he called to J.

J looked over his shoulder.

"My name's Victor."

"Nice to meet ya, Vic. Now get me a camera."


	3. Chapter 3

The Joker had amassed a swarm of willing, able-bodied thugs

Author's note: Joker, Batman, Dent, Dawes – they're not mine (shocking! :D ). Nolan TDK Joker. Story takes place during the movie, between scenes. Chaps 1 and 2 are prologues. This chapter is actually part 1 of 2 parts (damn confusing, sorry 'bout that). The previous two parts are background and add dimension to the O/C. Yay for reading! Yay!

The Joker had amassed a swarm of willing, able-bodied thugs. They weren't hard to find. Between the aimless youth of Gotham's poorest districts and the crazies that escaped Arkham in the Scarecrow's day, J had his pick. Vic became somewhat of J's human resources manager, combing the streets for potential goons. Some were won over with small wads of cash, others simply by the opportunity to take their frustrations out on the city that broke their hopes and dreams. It became almost an orchestra, with many different sections doing different deeds on J's behalf, all with a common goal – all to make the same music.

J was impressed with Vic after his "gift" of the bound, quartered Batman copycat. The little film he made in that brightly-lit storage facility helped skyrocket his reputation. People were good and scared. J hadn't praised Vic for the deed, but he showed his appreciation by letting Vic become conductor of the thugs.

"I have the ideas," he told Vic, "and you make them realities. I can't be bothered with the picky details. I tell you what I want to happen, and you just…make it happen. I don't care what you have to do or who you have to hurt to do it – just do it."

J and his crew took over one of Gotham's many forgotten factories. It became a place to house stolen weapons, explosives, trucks, buses, cars – whatever it took to achieve J's vision. It also became a boarding house for his followers, many of them with nowhere to go in the first place. It wasn't charity, though. "Just good business," he told Vic.

There was something about J's frenetic personality and complete disregard for the social order that transfixed Vic. He was intoxicated; ever since he witnessed J rob a bank where he happened to be trying to cash a forged check. Vic didn't scream, or even flinch, when he and his fellow patrons came under fire. He just stared, hands above his head, thinking, "I need to be part of the action."

Tomorrow would begin with the goons planting explosives and poison to kill Gotham's most prestigious judge and the city's police commissioner. And it would end with a party – not that they were invited, of course. Vic was proud to be the one that caught wind of Bruce Wayne's gala for Harvey Dent. J had his eyes on Harvey, and Vic wanted to be the one to deliver the goods. Where better to find Dent than at a party in his name?

Vic sat atop a staircase, surveying the bounty hoarded in J's name. There was activity on the floor – there was always something that needed to be built, rigged, or assembled – but it was relatively quiet. His eyelids began to droop, and he realized it had been more than two days since he slept. His eyes closed and his head fell forward, hair falling over his eyes - dyed-pink streaks running through black.

A gun shot startled him awake and upright. Another followed, shell cases plinking onto the floor. J was getting in some target practice. Bull's-eyes were spray painted onto the far wall. J had no problem hitting them right in the center, and he was clearly bored after two rounds.

"You, fixing the car," J called, pointing his gun, like an index finger, at one of his thugs. "Get over here."

The thug put down his wrench and walked over to J, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Get up against the wall."

The man hesitated. J flicked his wrist, gesturing the gun at the wall. "Go!" he bellowed, the word ricocheting off the factory walls.

"Wait," J said. He looked around. "Ah!" he said, finding a clown mask. "Put this on."

He tossed the rubber mask to the thug. "If I miss, I don't wanna make the other guys here clean up the splatter. It's just unpleasant, y'know?"

J rolled up his sleeves, gun still in hand, and ran the other hand through his dingy green hair. "All right now," he said, steadying himself. "My goal is to juuuuust miss you. It might be a little loud when the bullet hits the wall. DON'T flinch, unless you want your brains decorating the bricks behind you."

With that, J fired the first bullet just to the right of the man's head. "Don't move!" he giggled, and blasted a second bullet to the left, then released the rest of the round above the thug's head. The man fell onto his knees, lifted his mask, and threw up.

J whooped with laughter, almost on his knees himself, doubled over with glee. After a minute he wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Priceless," he said, spitting out the last giggles. "Someone clean him up. The rest of you, back to work."

J tossed the empty gun on a table and approached the staircase, ignoring Vic as he passed him on the way up. Vic watched J walk away. He hoped tomorrow would go off seamlessly, and J would find his prize – Harvey – at the party.

Unfortunately for Vic, that wouldn't be the case.

"He's lookin' for you," a man whispered, nudging Vic awake. Vic had fallen asleep on the floor of one of the factory's many offices.

"Huh?" Vic muttered, picking himself up from the floor.

"The Joker. He's back. And he's pissed, man."

Vic jumped to his feet and followed the thug to the main floor. J's back was to Vic as he approached, and he could see J's shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

"I'm here," he said, his voicing higher than he intended.

"You," J seethed through clenched teeth. He turned and grabbed a fistful of Vic's hair, forcing Vic onto his knees.

"It's your fault I'm back empty-handed." J's tongue darted. "Wasted my entire-" he jerked Vic's head for emphasis, "eve-e-ning-uh." He licked his lips again. "Hmm? You got anymore bright ideas Victor? Somewhere else I can go to embarrass myself?"

J pulled Vic up by his hair. Vic braced himself by grabbing J's forearm with both hands.

"What's going on?" one goon whispered to another.

"Mommy and daddy are fighting," the other mocked.

"I'm sorry," Vic mouthed silently.

"Sorry means nothing," J said, his voice deep and quiet. He tightened his grip on Vic's hair.

Vic searched the black pools of J's eyes for some sympathy. "It's fine. It's fine," he smiled, patting J's wrist. "Round two will be bigger and better. Let's not waste more time standing here. We'll get your man, I promise."

"We?" J asked, his brow furrowed. He glanced around, then set his eyes back on Vic. "I'm in this alone-nuh. Whatever… fantasy… you have, there's no you and me. There's no me and anyone. Except, right now, there's Harvey. So," he let go of Vic, "help me get him."

J left Vic standing amid a circle of his peers, his scalp stinging.

"You heard him," Vic yelled at the crowd. "Let's get Dent."

The factory came back to life, men returning to their duties. Vic pressed his lips together, annoyed with himself for letting J down, mad at J for making him an example in front of the others, and furious at Harvey for being the current center of J's attention. Vic wanted to catch Harvey for an entirely different reason now.

Dent was high on J's list of priorities, but the next target was the mayor. "Gotta finish what we started, I don't like loose ends-s," he said.

And though they didn't gun down the mayor, they set Dent up to know Rachel was the next target. J cackled for nearly an hour, knowing he cut Dent deep.

J and his crew sat amongst buckets of fast food chicken piece, assembled to watch Dent's press conference. He loved hearing his name on TV. J slid to the edge of his chair as Harvey announced he was the Batman, slapping his leg and laughing, his mouth full.

"Y'think it's really him?" one of the thugs asked over J's shoulder as a group watched jerky shots of police taking Dent into custody.

"It wouldn't be surprising," J said, ripping chicken from the bone with his teeth. "It would make things less complicated. One do-gooder to nab 'stead a' two. But he's not Batman. Too… blonde."

"So now what now?"

J got up and turned off the TV, standing in front of it to address the group. He tossed the chicken bone over his shoulder. "Now you go… snatch him up!" J grabbed the air with both hands. "But," he paced as he thought, "This's gotta be big. Big, big. I'm not letting him go this time."

J happened to catch Vic's eye in the back of the room. "I figured out the problem with you." J wagged his finger at Vic, and the room turned to look. "You don't get out enough. I forget sometimes I need to walk my dogs. So you're in charge of grabbing Dent's girl."

"Why you trusting this asshole when he screwed up so royally last night?" a voice piped up.

J shrugged. "I mean you're all assholes." He gestured to the group. "I have to trust at least one of you."

The group dismissed themselves, men returning once again to their stations

J's scarred smile spread. He strode across the room and put an arm around Vic, his words sticky through persistently-wet lips. "Why the long face?"

Vic shook his head.

"Now, now, now," J said, patting Vic's shoulder. "I don't want to be surrounded by all this… gloom. You screwed up. Royally, as it was put. But you're still the best asshole I have."

Vic's lips turned slightly upward.

"There we go!"

"I wanna go with you."

"No." J said without a beat. "No, see," he pulled Vic closer, as if divulging a secret, "Tonight the cops are gonna need to move Dent, and I'm gonna get him en route."

"But they'll expect that."

"I know that-t. I know that. I want them to get me." J held Vic's chin between his thumb and forefinger, mimicking Vic's pout. "Men this pretty shouldn't look so sad."

He was caught off guard by the endearment. His lips moved, searching for something to say. A day ago, furious at him, and now…something else.

"Men aren't supposed to be pretty," was all Vic could think to say.

"Men aren't supposed to be a lot of things. Just look at this face." J ran a dry, cracked knuckle from the corner of Vic's lip to his earlobe, the same spot where a jagged scar marked J's.

"I want to go with you," Vic repeated.

"No," he barked at Vic, and took his arm from around Vic's shoulders. "You handle Dawes."

J called in an updated plan of action. Harvey wasn't the Batman. The men were to capture both Dent and Dawes and rig them to blow. Only Dent wasn't really supposed to die. J had plans for him.

J's goons loaded trucks, passing cans of fuel like firemen passing buckets. The air was humid, and spirits were high.

Vic climbed into one of the truck cabins.

"This one's going to Dent," the driver reminded him.

Vic stared at him.

"Fine, jeeze." The driver started the truck. "But if the boss gets angry, you're the one that drove."

Vic's truck met up with several others at a vacant apartment building. He was impressed by how quickly the men had worked to set up the explosives in the building's basement. As he stood there admiring the scene, two thugs entered and threw a passed-out Dent onto a chair.

"I want to tie him up."

A rope was tossed to Vic. He secured Harvey's hands while other men secured his feet. He wrapped the Dent's wrists tighter and tighter, then stood in front of Harvey and pulled his limp head up by the hair. This close, Vic thought. I should kill him right now.

Instead, he set the timer and positioned it by Harvey.

"All right, let's roll out," he commanded.

You may not die, he thought, taking a last look at Dent. But your spirit will.


End file.
